


living arrangements

by treescape



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape
Summary: “Let me guess,” Obi-Wan said with the slow pleasure of cherished routine. The words were familiar on his tongue, the syllables rounded and polished from use. “You forgot to plan ahead for your evening meal again.”“It completely slipped my mind.” Anakin’s voice was far too cheerful for the chagrin on his face. “And, well, I wouldn’t want Ahsoka to starve.”Or, Anakin keeps finding excuses to visit Obi-Wan after the wars.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 323





	living arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> So, sometime in the third season of the Clone Wars, Palpatine tripped and fell down an elevator shaft. The Clone Wars came to an end. Padme’s a great Chancellor. She and Anakin never actually got together. This is set sometime a couple years after that.
> 
> This is for an anon prompt on tumblr for pining!Obi-Wan.

A door really shouldn’t be able to open _vigorously_ —it either opened or it didn’t—but somehow, Obi-Wan’s still managed to. By some miracle of will, he made himself wait until it had closed again before looking up from his datapad.

In the end, of course, he needn’t have bothered. No amount of preparation could blunt the sight of Anakin, curls soft against the slope of his neck and eyes bluer than starflowers in summer light. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite pinpoint when he had first begun the shift from looking at Anakin with exasperation and pride to looking at him with––well, with exasperation and pride and something more. Sometimes, he thought it might have been right around Christophsis, watching Anakin try to deal with a padawan of his own. Perhaps it had been after Maridun, or Vanqor, or any other number of times Anakin had nearly been lost to him. Perhaps it had been all of them, or none of them, or some combination of the above.

Obi-Wan supposed it didn’t really matter in the grander scheme of things, especially since nothing would ever come of it, but it _would_ be nice to know.

“Hello, Anakin,” he said mildly by way of distraction, uncrossing his legs so he could lean forward an infinitesimal inch. It was a movement borne of politeness and practicality, and not because it brought him that much nearer to Anakin.

“Hey, Master!” Anakin dropped into a chair just a few feet away, slung one arm comfortably over the cushioned back, and surveyed Obi-Wan expectantly. It was a sight Obi-Wan had seen a thousand times and more over the years; there was absolutely no reason for it to make his heart twist itself into problematic knots now. “I don’t suppose there’s any spice rolls left over from last night.”

There were, in fact, and Anakin knew it; even he and Ahsoka hadn’t been able to lay complete waste to Obi-Wan’s kitchen in one night.

“Let me guess,” Obi-Wan said with the slow pleasure of cherished routine. The words were familiar on his tongue, the syllables rounded and polished from use. “You forgot to plan ahead for your evening meal again.”

“It completely slipped my mind.” Anakin’s voice was far too cheerful for the chagrin on his face. “And, well, I wouldn’t want Ahsoka to starve.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, but he did nothing to hide the fondness in his voice. “No, we certainly can’t have that. You know where I keep the spice rolls.”

Anakin stretched his feet out before him and leaned a little further back in his chair, as if he were re-staking a claim. He didn’t need to; it had always been his chair. Even now that he had his own quarters as a Knight, Obi-Wan thought of it that way. “You know, I don’t exactly have anything to _go_ with the rolls.”

As always, Obi-Wan studiously refrained from pointing out that the Temple boasted a number of refectories, or that Ahsoka was practically an adult who would likely be glad to fend for herself, or that he was very well aware that Anakin had several favourite Coruscanti diners nearby. It wasn’t, after all, about the food; Anakin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. If he stopped by Obi-Wan’s quarters as often as he could when he and Ahsoka were on Coruscant—well, Obi-Wan thought that Anakin might miss these quarters just as much as Obi-Wan missed his presence here.

This had been Anakin’s home for a decade, after all. It was entirely expected that he might find himself oddly homesick for the familiarity of these rooms.

So instead, in keeping with their custom, Obi-Wan asked, “Would you and Ahsoka like to join me for the evening meal, Anakin? I have a Council meeting in an hour, but you can come by at the usual time.”

The light in Anakin’s eyes was answer enough. “Thanks, Obi-Wan,” he said with a contented grin, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile back.

\---

These days, the Temple often felt too vast in a way that wasn’t just physical. In some respects, it had always been too large, at least as long as Obi-Wan could remember; it was a home that had been built with a larger Jedi Order in mind.

But it seemed a different kind of _cavernous_ , now, to turn corners and half-expect to see faces he would never have the honour of seeing again. The wars had come to an end nearly two years before, but Obi-Wan knew that their shadow would long stretch over the galaxy.

It made it more important than ever to look for the light.

When Obi-Wan left the Council Chamber that afternoon, he wandered for a time. Anakin and Ahsoka weren’t due for several hours yet; there was no reason to rush back to quarters that felt as empty as the rest of the Temple. He couldn’t remember them ever feeling so barren. Even after Qui-Gon’s death, there had been Anakin flitting from room to room, an abundance of energy never fully held in check.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan eventually found himself near the sparring rooms. Here, at least, there was always activity to spare. Even with all of the loss of the wars, there were padawans who needed to be trained, and Jedi who wished to test their skills, and younglings who snuck away from the crèche to watch on with bated breath.

Obi-Wan could only hope, with everything in his heart, that those young ones would never need to use such skills as they saw here in a war.

He sensed Anakin and Ahsoka emerge from a nearby room long before he heard them. He smiled into the strength of their Force signatures, coming to a stop when he was finally able to pick out their voices.

“Are you sure we aren’t imposing?” Ahsoka’s tone held more than a hint of dubiousness, and it made Obi-Wan wonder with an amused warmth what Anakin could possibly have done now.

That warmth crystallized into something else when Anakin responded––something colder, more forlorn, like frost in the night. “Of course we’re not imposing. Can’t you see it, Snips? Obi-Wan is _lonely_ without us.”

And that, very suddenly, put a lot of things into uncomfortable perspective.

\---

“You’ve been quiet all night.”

Obi-Wan looked up to find Anakin’s eyes fixed on his face across the low table in the sitting room. The air held the quiet contentment of evening and something of the agreeable lethargy that followed a good meal. Ahsoka had left some time ago to visit with friends, leaving just the two of them to linger over tea.

He supposed he _had_ been quiet, at that; Anakin’s words outside the sparring room had rattled incessantly within his mind, jostling loose a multitude of emotions. There was embarrassment, certainly, and hurt. Most importantly, there was more than a little guilt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Anakin asked, still watching him over the brim of his cup.

Obi-Wan felt his lips part almost automatically on a negative, the cool intake of air as it passed over his tongue, and then stopped. He _didn’t_ particularly want to talk about it, but Anakin certainly deserved that much.

If only the words were easier than the decision.

He lifted his tea to his lips to give himself a moment to compose his thoughts, breathing in the rich scent of sapir and savouring its warmth. When he lowered the cup, his fingers were light and steady on the handle. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to spend time with me when you’re on Coruscant.”

“ _What_?” The incredulous word was punctuated by the slosh of water on ceramic as Anakin’s cup slipped just slightly in his grip.

Obi-Wan fought the urge to look away. “I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way because you don’t want me to feel lonely.”

“Why would that be a bad thing?” Anakin asked, his brows drawing down low as he observed Obi-Wan carefully. “Of _course_ I don’t want you to be lonely. Obi-Wan, you’re _important_ to me. I miss you.” His lips pressed tightly together for a moment, and Obi-Wan felt a sudden blaze of sadness from him before he asked, tentatively, “ _Are_ you lonely?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Obi-Wan said firmly, because it certainly didn’t matter whether or not he was _lonely_. Anakin shouldn’t feel indebted simply because he was right.

“Yes it is,” Anakin said stubbornly. “It’s here _and_ there! We’re literally talking about you being lonely.”

Somehow, this conversation wasn’t going at all as planned. It was supposed to have been about making sure Anakin knew Obi-wan didn’t _expect_ his company, not about how Obi-Wan felt adrift and alone in a way he never had before.

“Anakin, you are not responsible for anything I might be feeling. It isn’t anything to do with you.” The words were even true, though perhaps he had to turn them just a little to make them so, let them catch the light just right.

This was about his own inability to stop his desire for Anakin’s company from affecting other people.

People like Anakin.

“You’re lying,” Anakin said flatly, and then watched him in silence for a moment as if trying to puzzle out how. “Or at least hiding something. I can feel it.”

Obi-Wan truly didn’t know how Anakin had managed to turn this conversation on him so easily, but very suddenly, he felt drained. “Please leave it, Anakin.”

For one tense, endless moment, Obi-Wan thought Anakin would refuse. The frustrated look in his eyes coiled tightly between them, taut to breaking.

“Okay,” Anakin finally said. “Fine. That’s fine. Thanks for the meal, Master.”

And then, before Obi-Wan could think to respond, Anakin stood and was gone.

\---

Obi-Wan carefully washed the dishes one by one, drawing the task out as long as possible simply so he would have something to do with his hands. It was useless, in the end; the dishes did little to preoccupy his thoughts.

Placing the last of the plates aside to dry, he steeled himself and made his way out the door. He had no desire to let the frustrated hurt in Anakin’s eyes go unanswered—Anakin, who as long as Obi-Wan had known him had been so generous with his love and his time.

That had never been his intention. It had, in fact, been the exact opposite.

It wasn’t far to Anakin’s quarters. Obi-Wan almost wished it was further, just to give him a little more time to think, but he supposed he had taken plenty of that already.

Ahsoka answered the door, took one look at his face, and then shot a look behind her at Anakin. “I think I forgot my datapad in Barriss’s quarters. I’d better go check before it gets any later.”

“You don’t have to leave, young one,” Obi-Wan protested, but Ahsoka just gave him a skeptical look as she slipped past him into the hall.

“Oh, I _definitely_ should leave. Talk to you later, Master Obi-Wan!”

Anakin’s quarters weren’t really all that different from Obi-Wan’s; the layout, at least, was the same, a small kitchen and sitting room, doors leading off to the refresher and sleeping chambers. In some ways, in fact, they felt almost more like Obi-Wan’s quarters than his own. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he had become to seeing mechanical odds and ends scattered about—not messy, exactly, but there—until they were gone.

Anakin rose slowly from where he was sitting at his kitchen table, eyes wary, and Obi-Wan came to a stop a few feet away.

“I suspect I have been ungrateful,” Obi-wan said. “Unkind, even, when you have been nothing but generous. I am very thankful for your company, Anakin, yours and Ahsoka’s.”

Anakin chewed for a moment at his lip, a habit that dated back so long Obi-Wan couldn’t place it. “Then what was that all about, Obi-Wan? I don’t spend time with you out of _pity_ or _obligation_.”

“I am glad of it.”

Anakin’s fingers were fidgeting in his own robes, metal and flesh moving against the fabric, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “Do you want me to stop? Give you space? Not come over so often?”

That wasn’t what he wanted at all, and it sent an almost nauseous feeling through his blood that Anakin could think that, that he could think Obi-Wan didn’t want the unrelenting light of his presence. “Anakin, your visits are the brightest part of my days. When you and Ahsoka are off-world, I miss you both a great deal.”

Obi-Wan felt himself carefully surveyed through narrowed eyes, each of his words meticulously weighed. “You’re still not telling me something,” Anakin finally said. “You’re really good at hiding things, Obi-Wan, but you forget that I lived with you for ten years. I _know_ you. Don’t I?”

Obi-Wan would never be able to figure out how Anakin could so easily dismantle his defenses. Probably it had to do with the fact that Anakin was always already inside, so much a part of him that establishing a defense would be like trying to defend against himself. “Of course you do, Anakin.” He stopped, went to say something more, and stopped again, not entirely sure how to continue.

Anakin waited for a moment, and then sighed. “Okay, fine,” he said, and the words might have felt like an echo of his parting declaration earlier that night except that his tone was infinitely softer, quieter, just a little more uncertain. “I’ll go first, then.”

A quizzical noise sounded on the air, and Obi-Wan realized that it must have come from him, because it hadn’t come from Anakin.

Anakin shrugged, shoulders rising and falling sharply about his neck. “I wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth either,” he admitted. “I _don’t_ want you to be lonely, and I _do_ miss you. But, well...I had always hoped that after the wars, I might be able to work up the courage to tell you I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, or your former padawan, or whatever I am. I thought maybe there would be time to figure things out. But I could never seem to find the words, so I just...kept hoping it would happen.”

 _Whatever I am_ , Anakin had said, and there were a million things to unpack in what he had said, but that was the first order of business Obi-Wan needed to address.

Anakin was _everything_.

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said carefully, “it can happen now, for both of us.”

" _Yes_ ," Anakin said fervently, " _Please_ ," and the relief rising off of him—

Well, that alone would be a talisman against loneliness for the rest of Obi-Wan's life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for the prompt!
> 
> I'm [treescape](https://treescape.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you ever want to say hi or drop a prompt!


End file.
